During a recent visit to the Hillside Furniture website, I was significantly reminded of a time when I had nothing more than plastic parson's tables, and hand-me-downs to fill my first apartment. When living separately of family for the first time, there's a certain amount of peace of mind in dragging along your most favorite pillow, or continuing to sleep in the twin not so masterfully decorated with crayon stick individuals. Each of the tattered stickers melded to the frame carries with it the memory of a smile, and generously pat on the head. These non-living objects serve the remarkable process of growth and transition to maturity. Then there comes a period when dirt-poor newlyweds attempt to squeeze into a single bed with weathered slats which possess the wisdom to indicate childhood memories can no longer support a thriving life. Being repeatedly slammed on your head in the middle of the night has a way of quickly transforming romantic poverty into outrage with Early American Garage Sale style decoration; and lends the last, literal shove essential to elicit the disposal of beloved crutches.
Hillside Furniture prices provide the excellent out. While their pieces are of higher quality, and so higher priced than box store packages, they offer the assurance of first apartments filled up with crayon-marked remembrances. Products purchased from Hillside Furniture Company bring with them the satisfaction of attainment, development, and also the stability of childhood years which can literally be carried through the changing stages of life.
During a move, we had the chance to leave much of our home furniture behind, and buy new items for each room in the house. Even though the liberty to point, and select at will was exhilarating, and enjoyable, we no longer have the majority of those items. Remarkably, it took little time to lose my excitement for them. Furniture is way more than a place to lay down; it must belong in the home. Products chosen over time become fully incorporated in our lives in a manner that furniture purchased only for decoration can never accomplish.
Blossoming maturity is a funny thing. I've all of a sudden acquired the insight to understand that every time I thought I had made a final departure from some part of my life, I had actually done nothing more than scootch away from it as little as possible. My husband and kids have long complained that our home looks like a shrine to my dead relatives. It's not that they were trying to be unkind, but each time they wanted to tell me that they were as uncomfortable living with Early American Grandma as I had been with furniture that resembled garage sale crap, I would reply with a lecture on the dual beauty of antique heirlooms. No matter how much they felt pushed to make more and more blatant remarks, their hatred for my grandparents' coo coo clock was beyond my understanding. For me, it represented the safety of an overstuffed chair cleverly placed under the unwavering tick of my grandparents' love for me.
I was cleaning the heirloom household goods swarmed onto the heirloom furniture for the bazillionth time when it suddenly dawned on me how claustrophobic, and outdated my life had become. As I was standing there, I was carried into a kind of CG place in which my precious items got deformed, and mangled. Swirling, and writhing they inexplicably transformed into the same childhood albatross I had been so desperate to shed in that first apartment thirty years before. The revelation was so sudden, and impactful that I immediately left the home to collect boxes.